Safe Harbour

by Christina Kilbourne

  All I can think of doing to soothe my throat is making a cup of hot chocolate, so I climb out of the tent determined to boil a pot of water. I break a few sticks, crumple up the last five pages of a novel I never finished, then start to shiver so badly I give up. Defeated, I crawl back into the tent, climb into my sleeping bag, and fall into another fitful dream.

  The next time I wake up and half crawl from the tent to look around, I can’t tell what time it is or how long I’ve been sleeping. The cloud cover is so low and grey, it could be morning or afternoon. Snowflakes fall from the sky and land on my shoulders and mittens.

  “Tuff? Lise?” I call out a few times. Then I cough until I can barely catch my breath.

  Back inside the tent I chip chunks of frozen tuna from a can. Even with the crackers it’s not a very hearty breakfast or lunch, or whatever, but it’s enough to hold back the hunger threatening mutiny in my stomach. Wherever Lise and Tuff have gone, I hope they bring back something to eat. I don’t have the energy to climb out of the ravine and go look for them so I wrap myself in both sleeping bags and wait for them to return. Being sick is disorienting. When I wake up again, it takes me a moment to unravel reality. Is it the same day I ate the frozen tuna, or the next day? Have Tuff and Lise been gone overnight?

  There’s a rustling sound outside.

  “Lise? Tuff?” I call out with a voice as ragged as the old sailor we met one time at Boca Chita. He’d tied up without a permit and bragged to Dad that he hadn’t paid for a place to sleep in thirty years. He had to cheat the system, he said, so he could afford his pack-a-day smoking habit. For some reason his face looms large in my mind. I can remember with vivid clarity that his fingers and teeth were as brown as the ground and the skin on his face grooved with years of salt and weather. How long before my face starts to show the effects of living in a cold ravine?

  “It’s me,” Lise says. She unzips the flap of the tent and kneels in the opening. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Crappy.” I cough and sit up with the sleeping bag still around the lower half of my body.

  Her hat is white with snow and her cheeks bright pink. She hands me a box of day-old doughnuts and a coffee that’s warm and sweet. It calms my throat when I take a sip. I open the box and pick out a jelly-filled.

  “Listen, I’ve got bad news.”

  I stop mid-bite and wait for the bomb to drop.

  “Tuff’s gone. He wasn’t around when I woke up. I’ve been looking for him, but no luck so far.”

  When I move to leave, Lise stops me. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to be outside walking around. You were coughing so hard this morning I thought you were going to bring up a lung.”

  “I was coughing?”

  Lise nods. “I can’t believe you slept through it.”

  “You’re going to keep looking for Tuff?”

  “Of course. Where do you think he might be?”

  “I don’t know. He’s never run off before. If he got chasing a rabbit or something, he might have gone in any direction. I’ve got to go find him.”

  My stomach heaves when I remember the coyote, but when I try to crawl out of the tent Lise pushes my shoulders back inside.

  “Don’t panic. It’s only been a couple of hours. He’ll probably turn up on his own. But I’ll walk along the river and see if he’s wandering around.”

  “Shit, Lise! What if he’s lost? What if someone took him? I can’t lie here and do nothing.”

  “Tuff’s too smart to get himself in trouble. He probably just lost track of time. You keep warm and wait here. You wouldn’t want him to come back and find an empty camp, then take off again, right?” Lise pauses. “The phone is in my sleeping bag if you need it.”

  Lise has a point and I feel so weak I know there’s nothing to do but wait and worry.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  When Lise leaves I tie back the tent flap and watch the snowflakes drift to the ground. I eat two more doughnuts and finish the coffee. Then I lie back down, with my head by the opening, and pray to God and Buddha and Yogananda that Tuff comes back. I close my eyes and concentrate so intently on reaching him with my mind that my prayers melt into a dream where Tuff and I are walking through a forest, crunching over dead leaves. When we stop, silence rises up and takes over. I look up at the sky and search the clouds for Mom’s face. It takes only seconds before I see her. She smiles directly at me and I feel happy until I notice a pack of coyotes closing in around us. Tuff tries to chase them off, but I pull him back. There are too many to fight. We’re surrounded, trapped, and when I try to scream for help my voice is gone. I can’t run and I can’t talk.

  I wake with a start and see the snow is falling faster and thicker, and the ground outside is covered fresh and clean. How many times can I wake up in one day?

  I sit up, but the effort makes me cough and my chest feels like it’s going to split open. My lungs scream for air and I hear a crackling sound when I take a deep breath. I know I can’t sleep another cold night in the tent. This is the moment Lise has been nagging me about for weeks, the moment we tried to plan for. I need to go to the shelter and get better. I have to find somewhere for Tuff to stay.

  Tuff. I remind myself. Tuff is missing and Lise is out looking for him.

  I dig the phone from Lise’s sleeping bag and look at the numbers listed. Although I have no clear idea how long Lise has been gone, I know she’s already doing everything she can to find Tuff and I have no choice but try my other contact. I push Lise’s warning about Brandon from my mind, hoping she was wrong, or at least exaggerating.

  I type in Brandon’s number, then: Brandon? It’s me, Harbour. Are you there? Then I hit send before I lose my nerve.

  A rustling sound from outside the tent makes me freeze. Lise can’t know who I’m texting so I poke my head outside before she can catch me in the act. And there I see, with a wave of relief, that Tuff is sniffing the side of the tent.

  “You came back, finally,” I say, feeling further weakened by the rush of emotion at seeing him safe. “It’s about time. You had me worried.”

  Tuff lifts his head suddenly at the sound of my voice.

  “Where’ve you been?” I reach out to rub his ears, but he jerks away.

  “Tuff! Come here,” I say sternly.

  But he doesn’t come closer at all. He just watches me warily while I cough.

  “Don’t worry. Come here. I’m just a little sick.”

  I reach out again, but again he backs up. That’s when I notice he’s wearing a yellow collar. That’s also when I realize it’s not Tuff at all. And that’s when Tuff comes around the other side of the tent and starts to lick my face.

  I wrap the sleeping bag around my shoulders and climb outside to be sure I’m not seeing things or dreaming. And I’m not. There really are two Tuffs sniffing around the campsite, except that one of them is a girl.

  “Hey Tuff, who’s your friend?”

  I crouch down and the strange dog approaches. She gets close enough to sniff me and that gives me the opportunity to reach out and pet her. She leans into my hand when I rub her ears and although I feel weak and my head is pounding, I smile.

  Suddenly the mystery dog perks up her ears. She cocks her head as if listening, then races off. Before I can grab Tuff, he takes off in pursuit of his new friend.

  “Tuff! Tuff!” I try to call him back, but the effort brings on another fit of coughing. I cough until I think I’m going to pass out. Then I sit down on a log and cough some more.

  “Hello? Are you okay?”

  My pulse sputters when I hear an unfamiliar voice and I jump to my feet in time to watch a lady push back the branches and step into my clearing. She’s wearing a long black coat, a grey hat, and a yellow scarf. She is holding a dog leash and looks around my camp cautiously, at me with open curiosity and a measure of confusion.

  “Hi,” I say and swallow the beginning of another cough.

  “Is this your dog?”

  Tuff is
following close behind his friend, who is once more vacuuming up every smell in my campsite.

  I nod, then ask: “Is that your dog?”

  The lady stares at me and, when I speak, her eyes narrow. I realize my mistake too late and chastise myself for not trying to sound more like a boy — a Canadian boy. I reach up to rub the back of my head and breathe easier when I feel of the stubble of my new haircut. Even if I can’t pull off the boy disguise, I definitely look nothing like the age-progressed photo on the missing-kid poster. The lady looks at Tuff and her dog, then back at me.

  “Harbour?”

  In an instant, panic floods my limbs. They feel fluid. At the same time the blood pumping through my heart freezes. I step backwards and glance around quickly like a trapped animal. Surely I can outrun a middle-aged lady in a long coat, even in my weakened state.

  “Is that Tuff Stuff?”

  My mind scrambles to remember everything about the missing-kid poster. Did it say anything about Tuff?

  “You’re Harbour, aren’t you? Harbour Mandrayke?”

  I know I should deny it, go with the new identity Lise created for me. I should claim to be Hayden Miller. But I can’t. When faced with a stranger accusing me of being Harbour Mandrayke, all I can do is nod.

  “I can’t believe you still have Tuff. No wonder he ended up in my yard.”

  I have no idea what the lady is talking about and I’m expecting Lise to appear any second to explain, but when I scan the forest there’s no sign of movement.

  “Do you know Lise?” I ask finally.

  The lady shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone named Lise. Should I?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where she went. She should be back soon.”

  “Is Lise your friend?”

  I nod, and cough.

  “You’re sick. You poor thing. You can’t stay down here in this tent. It’s a wonder you don’t have pneumonia. Come on, let’s get you into a warm bed and get some hot fluids into you.”

  The lady steps toward me and I stumble backward. Alarms go off in my head and the need to flee is so strong I feel it pulling my feet down the side of the ravine to safety.

  “Wait!” The lady says sharply, and for some reason my body obeys. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  I stare at the lady. Even though she seems friendly, and maybe familiar, I haven’t a clue who she might be or what she’s doing in my camp.

  “Harbour, I’m your aunt. Your mother’s sister.”

  My brain is trying so hard to make sense of what’s happening, it screams with the effort of lining up memories, pieces of information from my past and the lady standing before me. When I look close I can see a resemblance to my mother. Even from under her hat, I see she has the same dark, wild hair as my mother, the untameable hair I had myself until the day before yesterday. She has the same narrow chin and thick, black eyelashes. But I don’t believe in fairy tales and happy endings. I don’t have an aunt. It’s impossible. It’s a set-up. My brain scans through all the warnings and scenarios Dad put me through over the years.

  “What do you do if an adult approaches you and asks why you’re alone?”

  “Point to an adult and say, ‘That’s my dad over there.’”

  “Good. And what do you do if you meet someone who says I sent them to get you?”

  “Ask for the code word.”

  “What’s the code word?”

  “Pink crocodiles.”

  “What’s the code word?” I blurt out suddenly.

  The lady looks confused. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what the code word is. Do you and your dad have a code word? Like in case a stranger approaches you?”

  I nod and cough.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember me. I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl. I’m Jackie. You used to call me Titi Jack because you couldn’t get your mouth around the words Auntie and Jackie.”

  A distant memory echoes in my head. I do remember something about Titi. I remember stumbling over a long name. I remember a chorus of laughter and my mother picking me up and putting me on her lap.

  “Beanstalk,” I say quietly. “Your dog. Is she named Beanstalk?”

  “That’s right.” She laughs. “Because she used to jump around like a Mexican jumping bean when she was a puppy. Your mom called her Beanstalk as a joke.”

  “Jackie and the Beanstalk,” I whisper. “I remember. Mom told me stories. I thought it was make-believe. She used to say that’s where Tuff came from.”

  “That’s right. My dog, Cassie, had a litter of puppies. Bean’s one of them and Tuff’s another. You came for a visit when Tuff and Bean were about six months old. They were the last of the litter.”

  When Aunt Jackie smiles at the memory her eyes sparkle like my mother’s and this observation triggers a pang of longing so deep I feel an unexpected urge to run into her arms. But I don’t move because I can’t, my brain is too busy processing information to divert energy to my legs. Instead I stand anchored in place, swaying like seaweed in an underwater current.

  Questions tumble like puppies through my mind. How could I have an aunt? How did she find me? Why didn’t I remember her? Why didn’t Dad tell me about her? Why didn’t he send me to her instead of making me camp in a ravine alone? Nothing makes sense and the more I try to piece my past into a cohesive picture, the more elusive the possibilities are.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I whisper finally.

  “I know. You must be very confused. But I promise I am not going to hurt you.” She pauses. “Of course, that’s exactly what someone who wanted to hurt you would say. Do you want to sit down and talk a bit?”

  I nod and sit down on the ground. The lady — Titi Jack or Aunt Jackie or whoever she is — retrieves my sleeping bag from the tent and hands it to me. I wrap it around myself to stop the shivering. Tuff comes to sit down beside me.

  The phone vibrates and I check the message.

  I’m here. Sup? It’s Brandon.

  I delete the message and suddenly regret smashing my phone in the library. I so badly want to text Lise and tell her to come back. To hurry! That Tuff is home safe and sound. That maybe we are going to be okay after all.

  Aunt Jackie watches me pocket the phone. “Is everything okay?” She asks.

  “I want to text Lise, but we only have the one phone.”

  “Maybe she’ll show up soon?” She suggests, then sits down on the ground beside me. I wonder if I should offer her the other sleeping bag to sit on, but she doesn’t seem concerned about getting her coat dirty.

  “Tell me more about Tuff,” I say finally when the silence between us threatens to swallow me whole.

  Aunt Jackie perks up. “Well, I remember this one morning we came downstairs and you were curled up with him on the kitchen linoleum, both of you fast asleep. You had your head on his back like a pillow. I took a photo.”

  “Do you have it still?”

  “Yes. But not here.”

  “Was he happy?”

  “To have you sleeping on him? I think so. He looked happy. After that day you refused to go anywhere without him. So your mother flew him home to Florida when you left.”

  Beanstalk makes her way back to the centre of camp and lies down at Tuff’s feet. They pant in unison, their long pink tongues drooping from their mouths.

  “Tell me again how you found Tuff? How did you find me here?”

  “I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you come to my place and get warm? I’ll make you a bowl of soup and a cup of hot tea and tell you everything.”

  When I hesitate, she continues. “At least come up and look at the house. If you don’t feel safe coming inside, we can go somewhere public and talk. But we should at least go somewhere warm.”

  “Can Tuff come, too?”

  “Of course. Let’s go before this snow turns to freezing rain. They’re calling for some messy weather this afternoon.”

  She r
eaches out her hand and this time I take it. She pulls me to a stand, grabs me in a hug, and holds on as if she’s just rescued me from drowning in the cold grey waters of Lake Ontario.

  “What about Lise?” I remember suddenly. “She’s still out looking for Tuff. We thought he was lost.”

  Aunt Jackie looks around the campsite. “Lise stays here with you?”

  “She normally stays at the shelter, but she didn’t want me to be alone.” A coughing spasm takes hold of me. When I catch my breath I say, “She thinks I’m too sick.”

  “She’s right. You are too sick. Why don’t we leave her a note? When she gets back maybe she can come to my house?”

  I pick up the remnants of a cracker box and Aunt Jackie rummages in her purse for a pen. I start to write, then pause.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Amelia Street. Number nine.”

  “Wait! I know that house. The stone one with the white fence and yellow door.”

  “That’s it. You remember?”

  “No. But we walk by sometimes. Tuff likes to pee on your gatepost.”

  Aunt Jackie laughs and I write the note.

  Lise: Tuff came back safe. He brought my aunt with him. It sounds crazy, but it’s no joke. She says to meet us at her house at 9 Amelia Street. You know the place Tuff likes to pee? Please come as soon as you can. Harbour. PS I left your phone in the sleeping bag.

  I lay the note inside the flap, zip up the tent, and walk with my aunt up the side of the ravine while Tuff and Bean race ahead.

  Walking uphill makes me sweat so I feel hot and cold at the same time. When I shiver, Aunt Jackie reaches over and lays her palm against my cheek, then on my forehead. It reminds me of having the chicken pox when I was little and stuck in bed. Mom felt my forehead every five minutes, or so it seemed at the time, and I remember complaining to her to stop touching me.

  “Do you have kids?” I ask between coughs.

  “No. It’s just me and Bean.”

  “Do you like kids?”

  “Some kids, yes.” She pauses, then adds, “I always liked you.”

  We emerge from the trees and wait for an opening in the traffic before crossing the street. The cars spray slush as they pass and Aunt Jackie pulls me out of the way.